pick up the pieces
by ephermals
Summary: she's falling apart, day by day. or, the story of dylan and the joys of eating disorders. —dylan/chris. / happy birthday, clara! / also for the bts one-shot contest at coppertone wars; 3B


**prompts: **candy floss, double dates, promise rings, & long-distance relationships

**a/n: **asdfghjkl; clara, at first, you were one of the authors i reallyreallyreally looked up to in this fandom. i never thought that we'd be pm'ing each other! i know your favorite character is dylan. so here you go. :) you're ah-mazing, really. as an author, and as a person. heart ya.

**dedication:** clara (ailes du neige)

**disclaimer: **i don't own the clique. how many times do i have to say it?

* * *

**pick up the pieces  
**dylan/chris

**.**

It's the evening of Massie's Block's annual back to school party, and Dylan is standing on the sidelines, all alone, as always. She sighs, not believing that she is already a freshman in high school. It seems like just yesterday when she was at her mother's New Year's Yves party, and met the Pretty Committee. Dylan watches helplessly as Massie, Alicia, Kristen, and Claire flirt with the Briarwood boys. She hates herself for being _fatter _and _uglier _than all her friends. Everybody just loves Mass, Leesh, Kris, and Claire, and hates fat ol' Dylan. They all go on double dates together, sometimes even triple or quadruple dates, but Dylan never gets to go, because she is way too fat and ugly to have a boyfriend. She has never really had a boyfriend, unless Brady from Hawaii counted, but that didn't work out, because long-distance relationships never work out.

Her glossy green eyes sweep the room, and land on the cupcakes on the food table. Dylan almost drools, the cupcakes were just too tempting, with their perfectly frosted tops, the rainbow-colored sprinkles, and —before Dylan realizes it, she is holding a plate with _five freaking cupcakes _on it in her hand. It's like an addiction, or something, because she can't stop eating these glorious desserts.

"Dyl, you coming?" Massie spots Dylan standing all alone, and makes her way over to her. "Ew. Please, do us all a favor and stop stuffing your mouth with cupcakes." She wrinkles her pert little nose, scoffing. "If you keep eating like a pig, you'll never get a boyfriend. Sorry, but it's the truth." _Sometimes the truth hurts, _Dylan thinks, _and this one hurts a lot. _The hurt must show on her face, because Massie immediately realizes that she's struck a nerve somewhere, and apologizes. "Ohmygosh no, Dyl, I didn't mean it like that—"

"It's okay. I get it, Massie. Everyone loves you and everyone hates me because I like pigging out on food, cupcakes most of all." Dylan manages a weak smile, but really, she's trying her hardest not to cry, because Massie was right, as always.

Massie shrugs. "If you say so, Dyl. Try to have fun, m'kay?" Dylan rolls her eyes, and Massie leaves her to flirt with Derrick some more. Massie Block gets everything she wants, doesn't she? She was so _perfect _and Dylan was so, well, imperfect. Everyone had their eyes glued to Massie, whereas everyone never gave Dylan a second glance, as if she was a piece of lint on their favorite cardigan. She thought parties were supposed to be _fun. _

All Dylan can do is watch as Josh leads Alicia into a closet (no doubt about what they were planning to do), Cam puts his arm around Claire, and Massie and Derrick dance with giddy expressions on their faces. Dylan wants to scream, but instead, she grabs a handful of assorted desserts, and runs upstairs. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was jealousy, but she storms into Massie's _ohsoperfect _purple and white bedroom, ready to destroy it. Pillows are ripped out, feathers are thrown all over the room, m&m's are sprinkled all over the floor, candy floss is tossed into random drawers...it looked like the apocalypse had struck the iPad. When Dylan is finally done, she stands back, breathing heavily. _What have I just done? _she thinks, yet she doesn't feel guilty at all as she leaves a note on her ruined purple duvet—

**you always got what you wanted, didn't you? karma's a bitch, and it's coming for ya. so watch your back. -A**

Dylan doesn't know exactly why she wrote that note, but she did know that she felt a whole lot better after tearing apart Massie's room. Call her crazy, she didn't care. She now knows how Mona from Pretty Little Liars must've felt when Alison, Spencer, Aria, Hanna, and Emily got everything they wanted and she was alone. All alone.

She takes another bite of candy floss. Mmm. Revenge _is _sweet.

**.**

Over the next few weeks, she and the Pretty Committee slowly fall apart. School has started up, and she immediately knows that even as freshmen, Massie, Alicia, Kristen, and Claire are welcome at BOCD High, and she's just...Dylan. Fat, ugly Dylan. She doesn't even bother wearing mini skirts and short shorts like the rest of the Pretty Committee girls anymore; she has nothing to show off. At all. So Massie and the others hang with the popular crowd, the A-list, the alphas, whatever you like to call the exclusive group. And Dylan? Dylan is all alone, just like Mona.

Dylan stops getting party invitations. Massie has even revoked her Friday night sleepover privileges until she lost weight. Eating has become a hobby of hers now; the refrigerator is her new best friend (and her only one, sadly). She tends to keep to herself, not bothering to speak to anyone. Her social networking accounts are left untouched, her last post being over a month ago. No one seems to notice, though.

She slowly falls into a depression. Dylan doesn't even know if anyone would miss her, if she was dead. Maybe it would be better for everyone if she was dead. She contemplates this as she shoves brownie after brownie into her mouth. Bags of Lays chips are strewn around her, and cookie crumbs are scattered on the floor. Dylan is still wearing her favorite pajamas —the blue ones with the pictures of candy on them, and her super comfy bunny slippers. There is a juice stain on her pajama top, but she is too lazy to wash it.

Her daily routine: _wake up—eat breakfast—watch soap operas—eat snack—watch more soap operas—eat lunch—nap—eat snack—cry—random stuff on the computer—dinner—listen to sad songs—eat snack—sleep. __  
_

It isn't healthy, really, but eating is an outlet for her to release her stress and anger.

Dylan likes this, though; this is her place in society —the fat, antisocial girl. Her cell phone rings, and she is startled. No one ever called her anymore. The caller ID flashed _Massie. _Dylan hesitates, wanting to dig her un-manicured thumbnail into the _ignore _button. After a few seconds, she picks up, because after all, this was Massie Block, her ex-best friend. "Hey, Massie," she says, thinking that she has obviously lost the privilege to call her 'Mass.'

"Dyl," Massie responds in a serious tone of voice. "We need to talk."

She sighs, knowing that this would not end well. "We don't have anything to talk about, Massie. You have your life, and I have mine now. Sorry if I'm not good enough for the Pretty Committee."

"Y'know, if you just bothered to exercise and diet just a little..." Massie suggests.

"You're not the freaking boss of me, Mass!" Dylan screams into the phone. "I can make my own decisions. I don't need you to tell me what to do. I don't need you to rub the fact that I'm fat in my face daily. You haven't bothered to call me for a month. No one's bothered to even talk to me for a month. I thought we were best friends, but I guess I thought wrong. I'm sorry. Have fun with your dear Pretty Committee." She digs her nail into the _end call _button, flops face-first onto her bed, and cries her heart out.

Why, oh why, couldn't she be _pretty and perfect? _

**.**

"Dylly pie, don't you want to come down and open your presents from Saaaaaaanta?" Merri-Lee Marvil's voice floats up the stairs and into Dylan's bedroom. Dylan is curled up in a ball on her bed, not intending on going downstairs any time soon. She didn't have any Christmas spirit in her, so why bother opening presents she'll just end up throwing away?

Eating doesn't help Dylan anymore. She doesn't even bother to eat, ever since a few days ago. Once in a while, someone, usually one of her sisters or her mother, forces her to eat a slice of watermelon or something. But she's not doing this to lose weight, no, that doesn't even matter anymore. Nothing really matters anymore; Dylan doesn't even know what she is making out of her life. She's worthless, and incapable of achieving anything. "I hate this world," she mumbles, "and most importantly, I hate Massie Block." _  
_

The Christmas presents are never opened, or even touched.

**.**

The day of the Valentine's Day dance, Dylan sits at a booth in Starbucks all by herself. Of course, no one bothered to invite her to the dance. Not that she wanted to go in the first place. She doesn't even order anything to eat; she is only here for the free wi-fi. Dylan stares at the computer screen, eyes wide, looking at absolutely nothing. She is wearing old, tattered Juicy sweats and a pair of ratty sneakers she didn't even know she had.

The door swings open, and a familiar-looking boy with a perma-tan and brown hair walks in. He was definitely a _HART, _as Massie would say. Dylan can't quite place a name on him, all she knew was that she went to her school, and hung out with the 'popular' kids. In preschool, she suddenly recalls, he was the boy who really liked light sabers; nothing else comes to mind, though. Unexpectedly, he slides into the seat across from her, when he couldn't sat at any other table. "I know you," he says, "you're Dylan Marvil, and you go to BOCD High, don't you?" Dylan is shocked —how does he know her name? But then again, her mother was the host of the most famous talk show in the country. Oh, and she went to his school. Duh.

"Mhmm," Dylan replies, turning red all of a sudden. She couldn't help but feel attracted to this boy. He's talking to her when no one else will, and that has to count for something, right?

"I'm Chris Plovert, if you didn't know already. What's a pretty young lady like you doing out here on the day of the Valentine's Day Dance?" Dylan rolls her eyes; she was anything _but _pretty, with her wild mane of red curls and pasty face._ I am fat, and extremely ugly,_ Dylan tells herself for the millionth time in months. "Couldn't find a date?" he teases, seeing that Dylan has yet to answer.

"I don't know. I'm not really in the mood for dancing," Dylan admits. "I haven't been in the mood for anything this year, to be honest. I feel . . . lost. Like a girl trying to find a place in this world," she says, quoting Taylor Swift.

"Are you sure that's all?"

"Everyone hates me," she blurts out suddenly. "I don't feel welcome at parties or dances. It all started at Massie Block's back-to-school party, when I didn't have anyone to dance with and stuffed my face with cupcakes. Ugh, I was so _stupid _back them, eating all those sweets. That's why I don't really eat anything anymore, except for a few slices of fruit on occasion." Dylan slaps a hand over her mouth, realizing her mistake. Chris doesn't seem to offer a comment on this, so she continues, "I don't know what to make of my life anymore." She can't believe she is pouring her heart out to this boy, Chris Plovert, but all these emotions have been bottled up inside her too long, and she needs to finally let them out.

"I liked that girl," Chris says. Dylan is reminded of that time she went to Skye Hamilton's end-of-year costume party with both Chris and Kemp. "I don't know who this one is."

"I don't really know who I am either."

"Well, Dylan, you should just remember that you're beautiful. And you're worth it. Your weight is only a number, it doesn't mean anything. Embrace your imperfections, because nobody's perfect, not even Massie. You know what they say _—_beauty is only skin deep. And Dylan, you have inner beauty, unlike Massie. So you should be proud of that. Smile, you're beautiful."

And, for the first time in months, Dylan smiled.

**.**

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Dylan, happy birthday to you." The last strands of the song fade out, and Dylan smiles at the boy singing it. "Make a wish, Dylly pie," Chris Plovert says, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"I don't have to," Dylan states. "I already have everything I could possibly want, right in front of me." She fingers the promise ring Chris gave her as a birthday present, thinking that it was the best present ever.

"Come here, you." Chris pulls Dylan in for a long kiss, then wraps his arms around her. Dylan snuggles in close to him, hoping that he would never let go. She forgot about all her insecurities when she was with him. He was there for her when no one else was. He listened to her spill her heart out when no one else would even bother to even talk to her. He loved her, and she loved him just as much.

**.**

Maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out all right.

**_fin. _**

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**a/n: **happy birthday, clara! well, i hope you liked this. :3

**edit [august.21.13] - **um, it seems like the bts contest is still on, so i'm submitting this. i edited it to incorporate the new prompts; it wasn't too hard because some were overlapping. i dunno which pairing this falls under, because we've all seen dylan/chris before but this is _3B. _prompts were_ light sabers, you're worth it, & promise rings. _

please leave a review on the way out. :)

xo rachel


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